s gift he had almost as markedly as the gift of
speech; he at once perceived that his guest was no ordinary man, and
by a sort of instinct he had discovered on what subjects he was best
calculated to speak, and wherein they could gain most from him. Charles
Osmond's thoughts she could only speculate about; but that he was ready
to take them all as friends, and did not regard them as a different
order of being, was plain.

The conversation had drifted into regions of abstruse science, when
Erica, who had been listening attentively, was altogether diverted
by the entrance of the servant, who brought her a brown-paper parcel.
Eagerly opening it, she was almost bewildered by the delightful surprise
of finding a complete edition of Longfellow's poems, bound in dark blue
morocco. Inside was written: "From another admirer of 'Hiawatha.'"

She started up with a rapturous exclamation, and the two men paused in
their talk, each unable to help watching the beautiful little face all
aglow with happiness. Erica almost danced round the room with her new
treasure.

"What HEAVENLY person can have sent me this?" she cried. "Look, father!
Did you ever see such a beauty?"

Science went to the winds, and Raeburn gave all his sympathy to Erica
and Longfellow. "The very thing you were wishing for. Who could have
sent it?"

"I can't think. It can't be Tom, because I know he's spent all his
money, and auntie would never call herself an admirer of 'Hiawatha,' nor
Herr Haeberlein, nor Monsieur Noirol, nor any one I can think of."

"Dealings with the fairies," said Raeburn, smiling. "Your beggar-child
with the scones suddenly transformed into a beneficent rewarder."

"Not from you, father?"

Raeburn laughed.

"A pretty substantial fairy for you. No, no, I had no hand in it. I
can't give you presents while I am in debt, my bairn."

"Oh, isn't it jolly to get what one wants!" said Erica, with a fervor
which made the three grown-up people laugh.

"Very jolly," said Raeburn, giving her a little mute caress.

"But now, Erica, please to go back and eat something, or I shall have my
reporter fainting in the middle of a speech."

She obeyed, carrying away the book with her, and enlivening them with
extracts from it; once delightedly discovering a most appropriate
passage.

"Why, of course," she exclaimed, "you and Mr. Osmond, father, are
smoking the Peace Pipe." And with much force and animation she read them
bits from the first canto.